Good
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: Every year Chase picks up House's award. This time House comes with him. Blatantly inspired/is a ripoff of Tony getting Gibb's awards on NCIS


Over the last nine years, Chase has picked up eighteen Special Excellence in Diagnostics awards.

Not received, picked up.

He has them, all still wrapped, in a big drawer in his apartment.

One at the East Coast conference, and one at the National conference, each year.

He likes the conferences, which is why Cuddy asks him to go up when the awards are announced, say, each time, that House couldn't make it, and take the award to the hospital.

Chase is pretty sure some people think he actually is House, by this point.

This year, Cuddy asks him to go to the regional one, as usual.

He's backing his bags into his trunk, when suddenly, another bag plops down into the trunk next to his.

He starts, and hits his head on the roof of the trunk, yelping loudly.

A soft chuckle sounds behind him, and he turns around, rolling his eyes, but actually is happy to see the other man—if House is coming, he won't have to go up to the damned stage. It's pathetic, but he really feels stupid taking House's awards, not to mention, he hates standing in front of all those people.

House smirks at him, as he closes the trunk, and Chase almost smiles back.

Over the last few years, something's changed between them.

Maybe it's just that Chase is running a second diagnostics team, now, but somehow, they're closer.

They eat lunch together, occasionally, and go bowling every Tuesday and Thursday.

Wilson is usually there, too, and House grudgingly lets Chase bring Cameron along sometimes.

All the ducklings House had six years ago have flown the nest, and House has a new set of kids to train.

Chase has his own team, as well.

"Cameron managed to be the first to nominate you… again."

Cameron nominates House every year.

House rolls his eyes, "I know. Then she complains that she wants to use that drawer of yours for other things."

Chase chuckles, as House gets in the passenger side, and he gets in the drivers' seat.

They drive in companionable silence for a while, and House fiddles with the radio, which Chase doesn't mind.

Chase likes spending time with House. It's not really that the older diagnostician has mellowed, so much as that Chase is simply desensitized to all the annoyances.

He should be—he's known House for nine years, going on ten.

House starts teasing him about making him still pick up the award, even though House is there this year.

Chase rolls his eyes and keeps driving.

If House wants him to, he actually will do that. There's steps up to the podium, and Chase knows House hates public displays of his disability with a passion, not to mention how much he despises standing in front of crowds just as a general rule.

But House would never actually come up and ask him, so Chase decides to not try to hard to figure out if House wants him to—because he really doesn't want to do it.

A day later, they're sitting in the audience at the conference, and House is playing his gameboy.

Chase sits next to him, watching over his shoulder.

He takes it away from the older man, after the award for Excellence in Dermatology.

House looks at him, clearly irritated, "what makes you think I'm the one going up there?"

Chase rolls his eyes, "I'm not accepting your award for you when you're actually here."

House rolls his eyes, as the speaker starts to talk about diagnostics.

"Who the hell ever said this year's award was for me?"

Chase blinks at him, "what?"

"—and this year, the Award for Excellence in Diagnostic Medicine goes to Dr. Robert Chase."

Chase turned, slowly, to look up at the podium.

"Is Robert Chase here?"

Chase slowly stood up, and walked to the stage.

He stood there, holding the award, and found, in the crowd, House's face.

He was smiling.

"For the handling of the Bennett case, published in the New England Journal of Experimental Medicine…"

Chase frowned a bit, looking at the speaker. Bennett had died.

"Showed remarkable ingenuity in discovering the truth."

"Too late," Chase blurted out.

The man looked at him, blinking.

Chase felt his ears turning red, "it was too late. That little girl died."

The room was awkwardly silent.

"Yes, but the medicine—"

"Wasn't good enough."

One string of clapping sounded, and Chase turned, looking at the source. It was House.

House was smirking, when Chase plopped back into the seat next to him.

"Enjoy your award?"

Chase handed House the plaque, "put this in a drawer or something, will you?"

House took it, nodding, a slight smile on his lips.

"Yeah."

Chase looked at him, after a while, "who do you think nominated me?"

"That's an easy question. I did."

"Why? You knew that was going to happen. You knew I'd…"

"Because you deserved it."

"I deserved an award telling me I did good when I still failed?"

"You did do good. You deserve to know that. Even if it's a hollow victory, you did better than anyone else. The fact that it's never good enough doesn't change that fact. You did good, Chase. You did do good."

Chase watched him for a while, quietly.

Then nodded, and leaned back and a little towards House, closing his eyes, as the speaker continued to talk, and House played his gameboy.

He smiled, a little, to himself. Just a small grin. A slight upward curving of his lips, at the words he'd waited so long to hear.


End file.
